


Rose Color

by FlareWarrior



Series: Hartwin 30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge [4]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Kinktober 2017, M/M, Sex Pollen, Somnophilia, but it is in broad strokes, dubcon, sedation/drugging, sneaky aftercare, there is written consent beforehand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 21:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12241017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlareWarrior/pseuds/FlareWarrior
Summary: The life of a spy grants a certain rose-color to moments that would be otherwise quite troubling. Or: Sex pollen isn't like the movies, and Eggsy has more reservations than anyone else for some reason.





	Rose Color

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the warnings!  
> Anyway one day Kinktober met the 30 day cheesy tropes challenge and then this came along and was...not as I had planned it.

The life of a spy grants a certain rose-color to moments that would be otherwise quite troubling. It takes Harry long enough to locate his limbs that by the time he's found them all he doesn't need to think about the implications of their placement, spread and bare as they are.

Confusion has no time to turn to panic before he recognizes the shaky exhale against his collar, the smell of his own shampoo and aftershave, and of Eggsy's sweat beneath them.

The world filters through to his mind in fragments. He takes a meandering stock of the situation. Eggsy is here, so he must be, by necessity, at least defended. The lights are on but dim, which, while not terribly helpful, implies they are neither in a prison or a show. He's on something soft, something magnificently warm. Eggsy's hardly out of his own clothes, but Harry hasn't got a stitch on him. 

His hands feel clumsy and heavy when he tries to move. He fumbles along Eggsy's arms to his elbows, forces his fingers to curl into the baggy, soft fabric of his hoodie.

"Harry?" Eggsy murmurs, slowing, and Harry almost manages to wake up when the overly-careful thrusting falters. Once he can think past the fire in his blood he registers the tentative, worried tone of Eggsy's voice and gains an additional boost of anxiety.

A larger hand trails down his arm and long fingers tangle with his own over Eggsy's elbow, holding when Harry had been struggling to keep doing so himself.

" _Relax_."

Oh, he thinks, and stops his feeble attempts to snap to awareness, it's only Eggsy and Hamish. That's their Merlin at his back, his hand firm and sure between Harry's legs. His consciousness flickers in and out as he does as Hamish bid, flooded with a sense of safety. If Hamish sounds calm, then the universe must be in generally good shape. If Eggsy is there, it has a damn good chance of staying that way.

The boneless serenity that descends over him grants just that much more awareness. He's loose and languid with sleep, and with something else - several somethings, if he's not wrong. His confusion and slow thoughts are all morphine, the too-hot burn in his blood that aches whenever one of them slows is something else entirely, something that should probably be less familiar.

"You've been dosed again," Hamish informs him needlessly. "James was still listed as your second, and Kay your backup."

He's starting to drift again when Eggsy's voice, a shaky question, holds him from sleep.

"Is this really ok?"

He only hums the affirmative, weak hands drawing Eggsy near to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. With his newfound strength, he tugs at Eggsy's thick cotton shirt, vexed by the fabric.

"Clothes," he demands.

"Right, sorry," Eggsy pulls away and he regrets his insistence immediately, until Hamish draws him back against his ridiculously soft jumper to console him. Then Eggsy's back, chest wonderfully bare against his own, and guiding him into a proper kiss. He's softer than he's ever been, coaxing and careful. "Wasn't any time, love," he explains when they break apart.

"You were under heavy sedation. We had no idea about the aphrodisiac until you were almost critical."

Harry isn't listening, doesn't care, not the least because Eggsy's trailing little bites from his lips to his neck. Eggsy's mouth seals over his pulse, a determined suction, teeth worrying his flesh deliciously. Harry tilts his head to give him better access, for once able to bask in the possession implied by the act. He savors the way forced-open nerves sing an angelic chorus at every too-sharp nip and brush of Eggsy's lips, every determined roll of his hips.

He lets slip a disgruntled whine when Eggsy brakes off abruptly, but otherwise lacks the energy to protest.

"Merlin, stop lettin' me mark him up. He hates that."

"No one's going to see him until he's well anyway. Have at it," Hamish replies, and Harry wants desperately to kiss him, so he bats at his chest until, with a huff, Hamish tilts his chin up to oblige him. He isn't gentle or tentative like Eggsy, too used to these kinds of situations to worry. Harry finds he enjoys the contrast.

"You're drugged out of your mind, Harry," Hamish says once Harry's satisfied. "Rest, let us take care of you."

"It's a shame this only happens when I'm high," Harry manages to slur before the drugs pull him under again.

 

"Oh, god," Harry says upon waking.

"Noted and seconded," Merlin rumbles from across the room.

Harry focuses on breathing and blinking his suspiciously watery eyes for a while, sore everywhere on top of being injured and strung out. His throat feels like a desert, his mouth like a swamp, but at the very least, his skin feels wondrously clear of the sweat he associates with chemical sleep.

"I had Eggsy clean you up."

Harry hums and makes the herculean effort to turn his head. Eggsy's folded unnaturally into a hospital chair that's shoved up beside the bed, the guardrail down to allow him to pillow his head as comfortably as possible on his folded arms by Harry's hips. One hand is free, fingers curled gently in Harry's own.

In spite of how truly awful he feels, Harry smiles.

On the nightstand there's water, and he contemplates whether it's worth the effort to make Merlin give it to him. Beside it is a get-well card from someone and a shiny red box.

"What is that?"

"Chocolate," Merlin replies neutrally.

" _Merlin_ ," Harry says, unable to hide the derision in his voice.

"It's not for you." Merlin nods to where Eggsy's sleeping, and Harry softens. "He was a nervous wreck when I told him we weren't going to wake you. It's probably for the best you came around on your own so early."

"Didn't he have to fill out the papers on this?" Harry asks quietly. If his hand wasn't spoils of war, he'd have stroked his fingers through Eggsy's hair. There are dark smudges under his eyes, just like Merlin's, and his lips are a wonderfully used shade of red.

"Yes, but it's another thing altogether to be called in as your lover's emergency backup support in an actual fuck-or-die situation, one he won't be awake for."

"I suppose." Under the unpleasantness that his severely overworked and damaged nerves are reporting, Harry feels disconnected and floaty in a way that has nothing to do with the drugs.

"Did you mean what you said?"

"You'll have to be more specific. I _was_ quite drugged."

"That it's a shame we only have sex when you're high."

Harry's eyes snap to Merlin, and had he any capacity for it anymore, he might have blushed. "Ah." He says, and stops. Merlin waits. "Well," he continues slowly "I'm never particularly upset to be dosed."

It's Harry's turn to watch. Merlin's jaw tenses and relaxes a few times, a slow, nervous tick, his gaze thoughtful it trails down to Eggsy and then back to Harry. "Later, when he's awake and you're sober," he says, and Harry shrugs. Merlin retreats to safer topics, a smirk playing over his face. "You came around again the second time Eggsy rode you. In my years watching your missions, I've never heard such a serenade of filth."

"Come now, Merlin, you must have seen him," Harry replies gamely. "Genius like mine requires inspiration."

"I recorded it."

That's not the kind of admission Harry would usually get without massive amounts of goading and bribery, and it makes him belatedly realize they've crossed into new territory.

"Did you?"

"It's some of your best material. I thought you might like to hear it."

That, and the morphine, and the contented feeling in his bones that's warring with the plethora of medications in his system, draws a chuckle from his chest. Merlin cracks a smile, and then joins him in laughing, both of them grimacing when it forces bits of themselves they'd rather not be reminded they have to chafe, and then laughing at that, too.

And that's what it takes to finally stir Eggsy.

The hand in Harry's tightens a fraction, still ridiculously gentle. Big, watery green eyes lock onto him, and Harry's sure he looks absolutely besotted when he smiles.

"Harry?" Eggsy's voice is rough and reedy.

"Come here, darling." Harry tugs on Eggsy's hand and he comes like he's unraveling, sliding up on to the bed beside Harry and tucking against him. Harry folds Eggsy into his side, drops a kiss into his hair once he's settled. "What do you need?"

Eggsy lets out an incredulous huff. "What do _I_ need? I spent the night here fuckin' you through a morphine high."

"Yes, and what I need is to lie here and maintain a high percentage of the very thing in my blood. Anything I can do for you within those bounds is yours."

Eggsy's quiet for a long moment, then his arms tighten around Harry's middle. "Just..."

Merlin, watching them from the doorway, hits a few buttons on his tablet to lower the lights. "You can stay as long as you like," he says, slipping out into the hallway, and, with one last look at the two of them, he shuts the door.

Eggsy is watching him from under his lashes, a little tense around the edges still.

"Could I trouble you to help me with a glass of water?" Harry asks, partially because he really would like one and partially to give Eggsy something to do. Eggsy twists up immediately, ever the caretaking type, and cradles Harry's head only somewhat needlessly as he helps him drink.

Eggsy's knocked the little box of chocolates in his haste, and Harry manages to snag it without moving too much. The world still spins a bit, but he lives.

"Here, eat," he says, opening the box while Eggsy puts the glass back and settles close again.

"Why?"

"Because it tastes better than sports drinks."

Eggsy frowns at that, but eats a few anyway.

"'M sorry," he says, examining his fingers for melted chocolate residue. "That they had to call me in, I mean. Not that I wouldn't have, just, you know, I wasn't on your list."

"Don't be ridiculous. You should know I would have written you in if I'd remembered before now."

"You ain't seen your fuckin' skin." Eggsy says it with humor that fails to mask the nervous edge in his voice. His hands underscore his words, skating over tender marks that don't seem to have end points along his collar and neck. Harry closes his eyes and savors the over-sensitive feeling.

"Merlin was right, no one but the nurses will see me until they're gone," he mumbles contentedly.

The caress falters. "You remember?"

Harry hums. "Some."

Eggsy's quiet, and when Harry opens his eyes he finds him doing a poor job at hiding his disquietude. Harry tugs him closer and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. "You did the right thing."

Tension bleeds out of Eggsy. He turns his head just enough to press their lips together, gently so as not to further bruise them. "Next time have the decency not to get fucked up, yeah?"

"I will make every effort to do so, if I might ask the same of you," Harry promises. Eggsy's eyes flicker oddly. He ducks his head to hide it, and Harry considers his hairline for a long moment, a predatory sort of interest rising in his chest. "Unless you'd rather not?"

"Shut _up_ , Harry," Eggsy mumbles. Harry is still, as Eggsy put it, _fucked up_ , in deeper ways than can be explained by morphine, and with a dangerous little smirk, he leans to whisper in Eggsy's ear. " _My sweet boy_."

Eggsy gasps against his throat, not an entirely happy sound as he shifts on the bed, squirming against rough cotton. " _Don't_."

Harry chuckles and settles back down to rest.


End file.
